


The True King of Ithaca

by BuddingAuthor



Category: The Odyssey - Homer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 20:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13302273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuddingAuthor/pseuds/BuddingAuthor
Summary: Near the end of Odysseus' long absence, his son Prince Telemachus finally started to gain power, respect, and authority as the man of the house. But now Odysseus is back, seizing his power without a second thought, and Telemachus feels hopelessly ignored and disrespected. To him, there's only one way to proceed. Patricide isn't unheard of in archaic Greece.(Reposted from my Fanfiction.net account, @selizabethharrisburg)





	The True King of Ithaca

**Author's Note:**

> Why, hello there, and welcome to my first Odyssey fanfic! I just finished reading the complete Odyssey for the first time, and I was enthralled! This is an interesting take on one of my favorite characters. Telemachus is quite the bitter young man, especially in the first four books! And once he starts to gain respect and power, it’s snatched away from him by Odysseus, who resumes his post as Ithaca’s king. That’s got to be frustrating!
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy this piece! I’m a fourteen-year-old aspiring author looking for feedback, so please leave me a comment if you love this, hate this, or have mixed emotions. I’m always looking to grow as a writer!

 

Telemachus knows what he is doing.

He was a boy when the suitors came, he was a boy when his father returned, but he is a boy no longer. Telemachus is twenty-three, beyond ready to take control of Ithaca, beyond ready to rule the island nation as its king, as is his birthright.

Telemachus knows what he is doing.

The suitors arrived when he was fifteen, a gangly teenager only finally beginning to gain a little bit of control with his spear and still atrociously bad at controlling his bow. They laughed, they ruffled his hair, they told him how sweet he was. Then they shoved him to the side to court his mother, all 108 of them invading Ithaca’s palace, eating the food and destroying the wealth that should be his, that was his by birthright.

He needed Odysseus then, to come back and rid the place of this infestation and to rule the nation while he, Telemachus, was still a child. He needed Odysseus then, but Odysseus didn’t come. Not for five more long, hard years; and by then, Telemachus was almost ready to deal with the suitors himself.

So Telemachus knows what he is doing.

Odysseus came back just when Telemachus was finally ready to rule Ithaca, just when he was finally gaining that final ounce of authority that made people listen to him. Yes, Athena had helped him at first, but he was becoming more assertive, more confident by himself. When he had come back from Sparta, the suitors had listened to his demands and respected them, albeit grudgingly. He was turning into a leader, like he _deserved_ to be.

Odysseus got rid of the suitors, which is exactly what Telemachus needed. And then he took back his kingly powers, started acting like he was the one person in charge again, the only person who mattered. Odysseus completely ignored the fact that it was Penelope—and later Telemachus; indeed, _mostly_ Telemachus—who had kept Ithaca together and out of the hands of a greedy suitor for twenty long years. In fact, the day after they’d killed the suitors and the slave girls, Odysseus and Telemachus had gone to visit Laertes, Odysseus’ aging father. Odysseus had sent Telemachus out with the _slaves_ , to _prepare dinner_ for him and Laertes. Never mind that it was Telemachus who had been acting as king for at least the past two years. As soon as Odysseus was back, Telemachus was no more than a slave, an unpaid laborer who was only good enough to cook for the king, nothing more.

So yes, Telemachus most definitely knows what he is doing.

Over the past three years, since Odysseus’ return, he’s watched his power slip away from him. He’s gone from being in total control of a household to being nothing more than a servant, an attendant, a _boy_. Telemachus is not a boy. _He_ deserves to be the king of Ithaca, not his father, who abandoned his kingdom for two decades. He is finally old enough to be respected, feared even, and now this father he’s never known has come back and seized all of his old control. Never mind his son, who had earned it.

Telemachus was thrilled to see his father when he first came back; he had thrown his arms around the older man’s aging shoulders and wept profusely. But then, Telemachus had also expected Odysseus to respect the power and control that his son had worked hard for and acquired for himself, and to let the younger man keep that. Odysseus didn’t do that. Odysseus just snatched all of that power right back, straight out of Telemachus’s hands, degrading his son to nothing more than a lowly kitchen slave and not even thinking about what he was doing. It was a deep injustice, and Odysseus’ son isn’t going to forget it.

Oh, Telemachus knows so well what he is doing, and it gives him such pleasure.

The sharp blade of his _xiphos—_ his short, double-edged sword—glints in the moonlight as he slowly, silently makes his way towards his parents’ door. His heart is pounding, yes, but not with fear. He is _not_ afraid, Telemachus reminds himself. He has no reason to be afraid.

Telemachus is so tired of all of his control of Ithaca being seized, and he is finally ready to right that wrong.

The slave girls are sleeping outside Odysseus’ door, but Telemachus carefully steps over them. One of the girls, who looks to be around sixteen, stirs slightly, but she doesn’t wake. Nor do the other two. They just keep sleeping, their minds alight with their dreams.

Telemachus doesn’t know why his father does not have armed guardsmen outside of his room, but it’s only all the better for him. Most likely, Odysseus does not expect a threat from inside the family’s private sleeping quarters. There are guards at the palace gates, and at the door that leads to the royal family’s own chambers, but none at his personal door. Telemachus shrugs it off. His father has only made his job easier by being unsuspecting, by being too trusting. By being blind.

Telemachus opens the latch on the door silently, his motions infinitely slow and controlled and precise. Not one of the sleeping girls hears him. The hinges squeal slightly as he pushes the door open, and Telemachus clenches his teeth. He’ll have to get one of the girls to remedy that, tomorrow. Never mind it now. Even if his father woke up now, it would be too late. Telemachus knows that Odysseus keeps his own sword on his bedside table, but his son is already armed, alert, and ready to pounce.

Telemachus knows that he has to kill Penelope, too. It wouldn’t be any good for her to survive and start spreading rumors about him. It hurts his heart to slaughter the woman who raised him since birth, the woman whose breasts he fed from, but it is a necessary evil, a sacrifice for a greater cause. He is sure that the all-knowing gods understand why he has to kill his mother.

But Odysseus first. Telemachus knows that. If he stabbed the sleeping woman and she screamed, his father might have time to grab his sword and to impale Telemachus before the younger man can finish his task. Penelope won’t even be able to sit up.

His heart pounds in anticipation as he nears the bed. His metal sword is suddenly colder and heavier in his hand. His heart feels like it’s in his throat, but he fights it down. A warrior does not get nervous. He _is not nervous_ ; that feeling in his body is just… adrenaline.

He reaches the side of the bed and inhales slightly. Telemachus doesn’t know how, but his father somehow senses a presence by his bed. Odysseus’ eyes fly open, and Telemachus’ own dark orbs widen. He sees emotion start to flash in Odysseus’ eyes, but it’s now or never, and Telemachus knows it must be now. He swings the blade.

It is a good hit, firm and true. Right through Odysseus’ throat. The old king’s neck snaps in an instant, and blood spills out onto the mattress. He lets out a quiet, choked cry, but it would be barely enough sound to wake Penelope, never mind the sleeping slave girls outside the door. Telemachus is not worried. And then Odysseus’ body goes still, and there is no more sound from his throat.

Then Penelope stirs weakly, somehow alerted to either Telemachus’ presence or Odysseus’ death. Her son’s heart clenches; this will be the hardest part. This woman is his mother; she has raised him since birth, and Telemachus knows that, and he feels sorry. But he has no choice; she can’t go spilling secrets about her son murdering his father. She cannot survive.

Quickly, his strides ever so purposeful, Telemachus walks over to his mother’s side of the bed. Her eyes are tiredly blinking open. She sees him standing there, his sword coated in red and still dripping. She knows what is happening. She moves to scream.

But Telemachus is too fast. Her broken neck is dripping blood, like her husband’s, before she can get any sound out.

Telemachus takes a breath in, then exhales shakily. _There._ It is done. There will be some work to disguise his parents’ death, to make sure that nobody knows they were murdered. It will be a few months of difficult maneuvers, of disguising the signs of slaughter.

But standing there, looking at the corpses, Telemachus can’t help that feeling of deep, long-awaited satisfaction that rises in his chest.

His father is dead. He is the true king of Ithaca now.

Telemachus knows what he is doing, all right.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, there we go! I hope you enjoyed! Please leave me a review if you loved it, hated it, or had mixed emotions. I’m always looking to grow as a writer!
> 
> If anybody is interested, I’m considering a second chapter from Odysseus’ point-of-view; because, you know, archaic Greek warriors being murdered in their sleep by their sons have thoughts about patricide, too.
> 
> By the way, the version of the Odyssey I just finished reading is Emily Wilson’s acclaimed new translation, which was a Christmas present. I highly, highly recommend it! She writes in clear, straightforward iambic pentameter, and the narrative flow is beautiful and easy-to-understand. As the first female scholar to translate it into English, she brings a fresh take to the perspectives of some of the palace’s women, particularly Penelope and some of the slave girls. The text is accompanied by an exquisitely-written introduction analyzing the text, chapter notes and summaries for each of the poem’s books, and a glossary of characters.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed, and have an awesome day! ;)


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